


Flatline

by SilenceIsGolden15



Series: Voltron Oneshots [38]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Brother Shiro (Voltron), Fever, Gen, Hospitalization, Keith is a reckless little shit and i love him, Near Death Experiences, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Seizures, Sick Keith (Voltron), Sickfic, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceIsGolden15/pseuds/SilenceIsGolden15
Summary: To help one of their allies, Allura allows some aliens to use the Castle's technology to determine the virus that killed one of their own. Unfortunately, shit happens, and they'll soon have a live specimen to study.





	Flatline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justheretobreakthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justheretobreakthings/gifts).



> This fic is A. inspired by an episode of Bones and B. A late birthday gift for my Whump Mentor, justheretobreakthings. Hope you like it!

“Does anyone else think this is a bad idea? No? Just me? Alright then.”

Allura shot Lance a cross look. “The Hermaians are our allies, Lance. We promised to give them assistance in exchange for their forces joining the Coalition.”

“I know that, I’m just saying. Bringing the body of someone who died from a mysterious illness in less than a day into the Castle doesn’t seem like the smartest thing we’ve ever done.”

“Cheer up, Number Three,” chirped Coran, wrapping a friendly arm around Lance’s shoulders. “They aren’t bringing the whole body-- just bones, no infective tissue whatsoever. And with the help of our technology they’ll be able to figure out what disease it is and be out of here before you can say ‘By the Ancients, that yalmor has eaten my toe’!”

Lance’s eyebrows rose, and a subtle look past Coran revealed Hunk giving him a similar expression, but before another word could be said Allura’s console gave a little  _ ding.  _ With a wave of her hand the Princess pulled up the video feed from the vehicle hangar, revealing a small purple ship docking. This was a different shade of purple than the one the Galra usually wore-- less violent violet and more soothing lavender. 

“Princess, are you sure this is safe?” Shiro asked, watching the screen with thinly veiled trepidation as the aliens began to emerge from the ship. 

“They’ve already ruled out an airborne virus,” was Allura’s answer. “Coran, we should meet them in the infirmary to explain how things work.” 

“I wanna come!” Pidge was already standing by the door, practically bouncing in excitement. “I wanna see how all your cool machines work!”

“I’m not-- are you sure about that, Pidge? I mean these are aliens with an alien body infected with an alien disease there’s no telling--”

“Aw come on, Hunk, Allura already said it was safe.”

“We should all go,” Shiro interrupted, though his expression was drawn, “for security. Just in case.”

Pidge let out a whoop and immediately scampered out of the room, eager to meet their new guests. Allura and Coran were right behind her with all their royal diplomatic poise, followed by the cautious pair of Lance and Hunk. Last were Shiro and Keith, Shiro with a stiff set to his jaw, and Keith who so far hadn’t said a word. 

Until they reached the hangar, that is, when he tugged on Shiro’s arm to hold him back after everyone else moved through the doorway. 

“Shiro, are you gonna be ok with this?”

The tension in his shoulders eased a bit, and he gave Keith a smile tinged with melancholy. “It’s ok, Keith.” He held up his Galra hand. “They fixed me, remember?”

Keith’s jaw clenched. “They didn’t  _ fix _ you, Shiro, don’t talk like that. And I just mean--”

“I know what you mean, bud. I’ll be fine.”

He disappeared through the door, and with his frown still firmly in place, Keith followed.

The aliens had already unloaded their ship, standing in a loose formation around a sealed black box that looked far too clinical to be a casket. Allura was in the middle of her welcoming address. 

The Hermaians didn’t look like a people that would have too many bones, to be entirely honest. They were almost complete spheres of light blue-tinged-lavender flesh, with a pair of small black eyes and equally tiny trunks making up their faces, and little stubby limbs with fingers that reminded Keith of breakfast sausages. 

“We thank you for your hospitality, Princess,” one of them said, cutting in in the middle of Allura’s sentence, “but this case is extremely time sensitive.”

“Of course, this way please.”

Allura turned on her heel and the Paladins scattered, clearing a path to the door for the solemn procession, carrying their black box of bones between them. 

* * *

“The victim died only a single day cycle ago,” one of the aliens was saying as their compatriots painstakingly laid out bones on one of the exam tables. “The virus progresses quickly and begins decaying the flesh immediately after death. We did not have time to study it thoroughly enough to provide a diagnosis or a source-- we suspect infection by fluid transfer, however without knowing where the victim was infected or by whom we must guard against a full-blown epidemic.”

“Hmmmm, I see,” said Coran. He stood on one side of the table, scrutinizing the bones as he adjusted his gloves. He’d exchanged his usual pair for ones that looked exactly identical but he claimed were protective. “I suggest we start with a thorough scan, to see if the virus is degrading the bones as well as flesh.”

Pidge was right beside him, staring with unabashed interest at the bones, and Keith couldn’t blame her. After all, they were bubblegum pink. 

As the only Paladin who’d expressed interest in being hands-on with the remains, Pidge had put on her armor to protect from any contagions while the rest of the team stood back near the wall in their normal clothing. Hunk had already begged off and disappeared for fear of giving himself an anxiety attack or vomiting at the bones, but Shiro, Keith, and Lance remained. 

Keith leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. He wasn’t paying nearly as much attention to the matter at hand as he was to Shiro, watching from the corner of his eye for any changes in expression, any tightening of muscles or signs of tension. As familiar as he was with them the Black Paladin had never enjoyed being in hospitals and that feeling was unlikely to have decreased after his captivity, but Shiro remained a stone statue, revealing nothing. 

Keith watched anyway. 

With the help of a few Hermaians Coran began wheeling over large stand lights he’d pulled out of storage. He positioned one beside Pidge just as she picked up a bone with light fingers-- about the size of a rib, though straight instead of curved-- and rotated it slightly to get a better look. As it turned something flashed.

Keith blinked a few times. After a moment he was sure it had just been a trick of the light, but then Pidge turned it back the other way and it happened again; there, a splinter of light as something on the bone caught the rays from the bulb. He started forward without thinking. 

“Wait, Keith, what are you--”

“Pidge,” he said, completely ignoring Shiro’s protests, “there’s something in that bone.”

She looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “Huh? What do you mean there’s something in it?”

“Something caught the light when you were turning it.”

Pidge blinked, then looked back down at the bone with a puzzled frown, and carefully began to turn it again, slowly. But the angle was wrong and nothing flashed.

“Are you sure--”

“Yes!” With a growl of frustration he grabbed for it. Somewhere in the background Shiro said his name again in a reprimanding tone, which Keith completely ignored as he turned the bone to the right side. But he couldn’t see anything there. “I swear it was right here.” 

He dragged the pads of his fingers over the rough, porous surface, searching for the glint of metal he knew was there. And he found it-- a chill brush over his middle finger-- a half second before there was a tight pinch. 

A short, breathy exclamation escaped him as he yanked his hand away, and in seconds everyone was surrounding him, crowding close with worried words as he stared at the drop of blood beading up on his fingertip. 

“Found it.”

_ “Keith,”  _ said Shiro again, distraught, as Pidge snatched the bone back. 

“Coran, do you have--”

“Just over here, Number Five.” 

Pidge rushed across the room to shove the bone under a magnifying lens. Keith couldn’t see her; Shiro and Lance were blocking his view. Shiro had his bleeding hand cradled in both of his while Lance stood to the side and anxiously babbled something about ‘reckless Red Paladins’ and how ‘he knew something like this was going to happen’. Normally this would have bothered him immensely, he hated being crowded and babied and it was just a prick on the finger (right?) but if he thought about it he was maybe feeling a little dizzy. 

Allura forced her way between Shiro and Lance, grasping him by the wrist. “We need to clean out this wound,” she said, eyes hard, “immediately.”

With that she hauled him across the room, towards a sink that must’ve folded out of the wall or something, Shiro and Lance tagging along like a pack of baby ducks after their mother. 

Keith hissed when the stream of liquid from the faucet hit his hand. It was at a very high pressure, and it stung where it entered the wound, like it was trying to force the blood out of his veins. Of course, since the virus could be infectious by fluid transfer, that might actually be the point. 

“That was very reckless, Paladin,” said a Hermaian, the same who had been speaking earlier, standing on Keith’s other side. “If you get ill from this it could be fatal.”

“But wouldn’t that be a good thing?” Keith asked, not realizing what his words entailed until Shiro’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed until it hurt. “No, not dying, I meant-- if I get sick. You could study it then, right? Figure out what it is?”

“That’s out of the question,” Shiro declared. But when Keith looked at Allura, her gaze was considering. 

“It could possibly--”

“Found it!” Pidge cried, then immediately swore. “It’s a needle, there’s a tip of a needle stuck in the damn bone.”

“That could be what infected the victim,” said another Hermaian.

“Which means it’ll infect Keith, more likely than not.” Allura’s expression turned grim, and she pulled Keith’s hand out of the sink. “We should get him hooked up to monitoring. Coran?”

“Just a moment, Princess!” Coran called back while Keith mumbled crossly to himself about being referred to in the third person. He’d positioned a large machine over the bones, hovering in mid-air like those serving plates he had in the kitchen, and was busily tapping buttons on the screen. With one last button press the machine began to hum, and Coran scampered off to unfold more equipment from the storage places behind the wall panels as Allura pushed Keith to sit on one of the infirmary cots. 

In moments they had his jacket off of him and were hooking things up to him-- things he could only assume would monitor heart rate, blood pressure, temperature-- you know, the things that seemed important. Shiro was standing off to the side. Lance had disappeared, probably to tell Hunk what was going on, while Pidge monitored the scan. There seemed to be a little hint of anxiety in the flutter of her hands, but it could’ve also been his mind playing tricks on him.

The second there was an opening Shiro was in front of him, kneeling before the cot so that he was staring up at Keith rather than the other way around. His expression was definitely wracked by fear-- no if’s, and’s, or but’s.

“I’ll be ok, Shiro,” Keith said with his best attempt at a smile, “they’ll figure it out.”

Shiro shook his head, and when he spoke his voice cracked. “You’re already looking pale.”

“I’m always pale,” he argued back, but it was half-hearted. Even sitting down he felt unsteady, and when he reached out to steady himself against Shiro’s shoulder, Shiro grasped his wrist like it was a lifeline. “Little dizzy though.”

Shiro gulped. “Right, yeah, here, lay down.” Gently, he guided Keith until he was lying on the cot, still with his boots on, and stood to arrange the blanket over him. Keith appreciated that-- he was starting to get a bit shivery without his jacket. 

Smoothing the blanket over Keith’s chest, Shiro forced himself to give a shaky chuckle. “God, Keith, you really need to stop doing stuff like this. You’re gonna give me even more white hair.”

“It’s not like I meant to stick myself. I just saw something.”

Unable to manage a laugh, Shiro just shook his head again and tucked the blanket more carefully under Keith’s sides before reaching up to brush his knuckles against Keith’s cheek, just a momentary comforting motion. Until he frowned, pressed his hand against Keith’s forehead more insistently, and glanced at the screens only to make a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“I can’t read Altean, but you feel like you have a fever coming on.”

“Probably.” Keith squirmed a bit, managing to get his belt loose enough to pull free the sheath for his knife which had been digging into the small of his back rather unpleasantly. 

“Will you watch this for me?” he asked, holding it out to Shiro. Shiro bit his lip.

“Yeah, sure.” His voice was hoarse, and when he took the knife from him, his fingers trembled. 

“Don’t worry, Shiro. I’ll be fine.”

His touch was light when he smoothed his metal hand through Keith’s hair. 

“I hope so, bud.”

* * *

Keith slept for a bit. Or he assumed he did, since the machine doing the scan over the bones was gone and the Hermaians were in a different corner of the infirmary than before he closed his eyes. He was hot, and things were blurry, but he thought he could discern a couple of blobs across the room that could’ve been Lance and Hunk. 

“Keith? You awake?”

Tiredly, he dragged his eyes up to find Shiro sitting beside his head. Apparently someone had procured him a chair. 

“Yeah.” His voice was scratchy when he spoke, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “How long was I asleep?”

“About forty-five minutes.” Shiro’s posture was all anxiety-- sitting forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped, brow furrowed so deeply he was probably getting a headache from it. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmm. Hot. Thirsty.” 

Words were hard, for some reason. He felt a bit… hazy. Disconnected. Had they given him something?

“Keith, focus.” 

He blinked, trying to zone back in when he hadn’t even realized he’d zoned out. Shiro’s face was creased with worry. 

“You have an IV in to make sure you don’t get dehydrated, but I can give you something to drink if you want.”

“Yes please.”

Reaching over to a side table, Shiro produced a little pouch of the space juice Coran always gave them after training. Keith went to sit up but his elbows buckled-- Shiro had to prop him up with one arm while he took a few sips, and unfortunately Keith was still coherent enough to feel the shame burning his cheeks even hotter than the fever. 

“You guys figure anything out yet?” he asked when he finished drinking, half out of legitimate curiosity and half to distract from the humiliation. Shiro shook his head with a scowl. 

“They’re still working with the bones, trying to give the virus time to start showing its full symptoms. They’ll start asking you questions in about an hour or so.”

“Mn.” Keith couldn’t think of anything else to say-- it felt like his bones were aching. 

“You can go back to sleep till then, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’s-- good. Good plan.”

Shiro forced a chuckle, but it sounded strangled, so Keith didn’t object when Shiro took one of his hands and rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. 

It didn’t take him long to fall back into darkness. 

* * *

An hour passed, and no one spoke to Shiro. 

He knew it was because he probably wouldn’t pay attention, and honestly he was glad for it. He didn’t have the mental capacity to speak to anyone; that would mean having to construct his leader mask and pretend he wasn’t scared out of his mind, and he just couldn’t manage that right now. 

Shiro wished he could be angry at Keith. Being angry is easier than being scared, and by all rights he should be angry. The Paladins were warned not to go near the bones without the proper protective gear. But of course Keith couldn’t hold himself back long enough to think and now he was paying for it. What wasn’t frustrating about that?

But he was just  _ so pale.  _ And hot-- practically molten to the touch. His sleep had grown restless, and now his bangs were sodden and stuck to his forehead with sweat from the fever, heavy bags beginning to appear under his eyes. 

Long story short, Shiro was freaking out inside. 

“Black Paladin.” He turned to see the Hermaian who had apparently taken charge standing by Keith’s bedside, watching him. “We are ready to do our examination. Would you prefer to wake the Red Paladin?”

Shiro gave a tight nod and leaned forward with some reluctance. He hated to wake Keith up and deprive him of rest, but if it would help figure out what the hell the illness was and how to treat it, he’d deal. 

“Keith,” he said softly, jostling Keith’s shoulder. He groaned and turned away at first, but Shiro was insistent, and after a minute or two of coaxing he peeled his eyes open. They were a bit glassy from the fever, but still he gave Shiro a grumpy look that had his chest aching. 

“What?” he grumbled. 

“The doctors are gonna ask you some questions, ok? Don’t try to hide anything, tell them exactly how you feel.”

Keith gave a tired nod, flicking his eyes over to the Hermaian as Coran came bustling over to check his vitals. 

“Quiznack,” he heard Coran hiss, and rose from his chair to follow as he rushed back across the room. 

“What? What is it?”

“His fever is too high,” answered Coran with an unfamiliar tightness to his voice, “I need to bring it down.” 

Sick with anxiety, Shiro waited for Coran to find the appropriate medication and followed him back to the bed. The Hermaian was still questioning Keith as Coran hooked the medicine to the IV. 

“Are you feeling pain anywhere?” the doctor asked, his face trunk wiggling. 

“Joints,” said Keith, “my joints hurt.”

Without hesitation the alien reached down and squeezed Keith’s elbow with one of his tiny hands, and Shiro clenched his fists as Keith’s face crumpled in a wince. 

“How badly did that hurt on a scale of one to ten?”

“Seven,” Keith answered in a whisper. Shiro’s stomach dipped. 

The Hermaian hummed thoughtfully, and after a moment's consideration turned to Coran. 

“He’s exhibiting symptoms of a virus known on our planet,” he said, “I can send a request for the appropriate medicine to be delivered.”

“Are you sure it’ll work for him?” Shiro interrupted, earning himself a black look from the alien that he ignored. “He’s two entirely different species from you.”

“It’s the only option available to us at this time. The virus has mutated somehow-- it’s progressing much more quickly than usual.”

“How quickly?” 

All three of them looked down at once. Keith was staring at them, and Shiro mentally smacked himself for talking about him like he wasn’t in the room. 

He opened his mouth, intending to deflect the question and pull Coran away to ask the same thing in a more private setting, but the Hermaian answered before he could. 

“I estimate we have about seven vargas left.”

His breath left in a wheeze. Dimly he knew that he shouldn’t panic, not in front of Keith, but he couldn’t help the way his voice came out when he spoke. 

_ “Seven vargas?” _

The Hermaian continued, without acknowledging Shiro, “Our fellows on the planet will be able to deliver the proper medicine within the varga. If we are fortunate it will work.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” Coran put a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, but it did little to ground him. “You said the symptoms were similar, but what if it’s not the same thing? What then?”

“We have people working on the ground to discover who injected the original victim with the virus,” answered the alien. His expression didn’t move much, but somehow Shiro got the impression he was irritated. “If we can discover that, we can get whatever counter measure the person has to prevent themselves from dying of their own disease, in case the medicine being brought doesn’t work.”

“So Keith’s life depends on you solving a murder in seven vargas?”

“Shiro,” his eyes dragged back down to the cot, where Keith was watching the conversation with a distressed face, “don’t be mad at them, it’s not their fault.”

Shiro gulped and returned to his chair beside Keith’s bed, taking his hand when it was offered over the edge of the cot. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m not angry. Just…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Keith squeezed his hand, and with a tremulous smile, Shiro squeezed back. 

“Can I go back to sleep?”

He glanced up at the Hermaian, waiting until he received an affirmative gesture before answering.

“Yeah, that’s ok.”

Keith’s lips twitched a bit in gratitude, and within minutes he was out again, leaving Shiro and the others to hover in mounting anxiety while the aliens bustled around them; trying save Keith from an enemy none of them had been anticipating. 

* * *

The next time they woke him up Keith wanted to scream. He was so hot, boiling like a lobster, but the sweat sticking his clothes to him was cold. His bones ached like they could splinter, and when he forced his eyes open all he could see was a haze of colored blobs. 

A familiar voice said his name and he instinctively turned towards it. Things were all hazy, but that voice meant safety. He could trust it. 

“Keith, the medicine’s here. Can you talk to us?”

He wasn’t sure. His throat felt awfully dry, but he could give it an attempt. 

“Mhm.” Ok, raspy, and not quite words, but good enough. A hand gripped his and squeezed. 

“Ok, they’re putting it in your IV now. Tell us how it feels.”

At first all it felt like was a chill in his veins as the fluid seeped in-- strange, but not concerning. But then his heart began to thump; pounding, pounding, a war drum; and while he was distracted by that his lungs constricted. 

“Can’t,” he gasped, and the hand tightened as the drums beat louder, “can’t breathe--”

Then his muscles tightened, went so taut they could snap and it  _ hurt,  _ and his spine bowed and everything went dark. 

* * *

“He’s seizing!”

Shiro moved without thinking, following the training the Garrison had drilled into him and moved Keith onto his side as his whole body jerked and trembled under his hands. 

The seizure lasted fifty two ticks, and then Shiro was shuffled to the background while Coran and the other aliens attempted to stabilize him. 

He’d had out of body experiences before. Right now his awareness was floating somewhere in the left corner of the infirmary ceiling. Vaguely he was conscious of the fact that the other Paladins were with him, trying to give comfort, but he could only see Keith; pale and still as marble. 

Eventually a Hermaian approached. He was finally starting to be able to tell them apart-- this was the leader, the one who’d been talking to them this whole time. 

“Black Paladin,” he said, and Shiro’s spirit plummeted back into his body. “My deepest apologies.”

He heard himself speak without processing the words. 

“What now?”

The Hermaian’s trunk drooped. “He has about four vargas left. We will keep trying, but I would advise saying your goodbyes.”

A choked sound escaped his throat, and the Hermaian dared to give him a pitying look before shuffling away to join his people. 

For a long, dizzying, suffocating moment there was silence. Shiro’s brain was a blank slate-- the neurons weren’t firing. 

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.  _ He  _ was the one who was sick,  _ he  _ was the one that was supposed to be dying in a hospital bed, not Keith. Keith was supposed to be the one moving on, moving forward, making something of his life. It was wrong. It was all so wrong.

“Shiro.”

He blinked. The other Paladins were before him, expressions tight and determined/angry/scared. 

“We’re going down in our Lions.” Lance was the one who spoke. “We’re gonna try and find the person they’re looking for.”

“How?” It came out in a whisper. “It’s a whole planet, how--”

“Let us worry about that,” Pidge interrupted. 

“You just worry about Keith,” said Hunk.

Shiro loosed a shaky breath. “Ok.”

Hunk was the only one who could manage any kind of smile before the trio headed for the door, and Shiro found himself drifting back towards the cot, pulled by an invisible magnet, and sank into the chair that had been jostled out of position in the previous mad rush. 

Keith’s hand was limp when he took it. 

For a few minutes he just sat, his throat too tight to manage anything resembling words. Out of the corners of his eyes the aliens skirted around him, clearly trying to give him space. His back shuddered. 

Finally he managed to raise his other hand, brushing Keith’s sodden bangs off of his forehead. He didn’t want to acknowledge the situation and all the pain that came with it… but he couldn’t lose his chance to say goodbye, if that’s what he had to do. 

_ Oh, Keith…  _ he thought, and then lost it. How was he supposed to say goodbye to him all over again? It had been bad enough when it was Shiro leaving, when it was Shiro who didn’t come back, but this? He just couldn’t handle this. 

“I’m sorry, Keith,” is what he wound up murmuring, almost too quietly to even hear himself, and ran his hand through his hair the way he liked, even if he wasn’t conscious to feel it. “I love you  _ otouto. _ ”

And so he sat and held his hand, and Shiro’s mind began to wander. The thoughts felt distant, things that he couldn’t quite touch but had to pretend if only to keep himself from losing his composure entirely. If the others couldn’t find the solution, if Keith really did… how would they bury him? Maybe they could keep him in a cryopod until they got home, so they could bury him properly next to his father, but they didn’t know how long the war would take or if they would ever go home. 

Shiro watched the slow rise and fall of Keith’s chest, and although he hadn’t done it in years, prayed to every god he could remember not to let it stop. 

Eventually (who knows how much time later) a slim hand descended on his shoulder. It was the Princess, her lips pursed in concern, and it wasn’t until he straightened up and felt the moisture on his face that he realized he’d been crying.

“I… take it he’s not doing well.”

Shiro shook his head, reluctantly releasing Keith’s hand to wipe his cheeks clean. His eyes settled on one of the machines surrounding the bed, watching what he assumed was Keith’s pulse as it moved weakly. Allura followed his gaze and let out a mournful sigh. 

“I can feel the Lions returning. The others must be on their way back.”

He bit his lip. He didn’t want to hope-- hope was almost worse when the end result was tragic, but he hadn’t survived this long by being a pessimist. The spark fought him and grew in his chest. 

Allura squeezed his shoulder once, then fell away. “I should meet them in the hangar.”

Shiro didn’t answer, and after a moment she walked away without another word. 

Silence. He could practically hear the time ticking down on them, feel the weight of every second gathering on his shoulders. Any one of them could be Keith’s last.

To his left there was a soft  _ hiss  _ as the door to the infirmary slid open. Before Shiro could even look up someone was shouting, shattering the quiet-- Pidge, with a triumphant cheer. 

“We got it!”

Instantly Shiro was up and out of his chair, making way for Coran and Pidge and the Hermaian’s as they rushed to administer whatever medicine they’d found to their patient. In the doorway Lance and Hunk stood guard over another Hermaian, one with his stubby limbs in magcuffs, questioning Allura over whether the Castle had holding cells or not. 

Later, Shiro would be furious with this man. So angry he’d ask Allura to lock down the entire floor of the Castle he was being held on lest he lose his temper and do something he’d regret later. But right now, at this moment, all of his attention was on Keith as the lead doctor pressed the new treatment into the IV line. He watched Coran’s expression, glued to the readouts of the Altean machines, his mustache quivering. 

Shiro couldn’t breathe. Even if this was the cure, Keith wasn’t their species, it could just hurt him more like the last one had. If that was the case Shiro wasn’t sure what he’d do.

A minute ticked by, then another. The tension in the room was smothering; everyone holding their breaths. Then Coran’s shoulders dropped and Shiro felt momentary panic freeze him before the Altean spoke.

“He’s stabilizing.” 

* * *

“I told you guys this wasn’t a good idea.”

“Oh my god, Lance, shut up about it already!”

“Guys shoosh, he’s waking up!”

Keith groaned and turned away from the too-loud voices in his ear. His head was already throbbing enough, and the light he could detect beyond his eyelids didn’t promise relief should he dare to open them. Thankfully after the last exclamation the voices quieted, and he sighed. Blissful silence.

Then, on his other side, prim and proper, “Coran? Are you sure he’s ready to wake up?”

“Yes Princess, he may be a bit grumpy, but healthwise he should be fine and dandy!”

He growled to himself. All of these people, talking over him. Couldn’t they see he was trying to get some damn sleep?

“Keith? We need you to wake up, bud.”

Wait, he knew that voice. That was Shiro. 

Well. If Shiro said he had to get up…

With a few mumbled, incoherent complaints, he opened his eyes. 

Shiro’s soft grin was the first thing he saw. 

**Author's Note:**

> My roommate argues that this is too hardcore to count as a sickfic. I say if the person is sick, it's a sickfic. Thoughts?


End file.
